We're Gonna Do This: Jasmine's Story (Independence Day)

July 15th, 1994

"We can't do this!" Dylan (Sr.) yelled at me. "All you do is complain. Every day. All day."

Dylan Jr. looked up at him. "Daddy, is something wrong?"

We were in the kitchen. The yellow walls with too-happy decorative wallpaper smiled at me, making me more angry than I already was. The floor was tiled like a chessboard, and the counters held their ground, unmoving.

"Yes, something is the hell wrong! You're mother's being a lazy bitch, that's what's wrong!" Dylan Sr. screamed, making Junior scurry fearfully up the wooden stairs.

"Dylan! Do not speak that way in front of my child."

"I'm his father!" He hauled the refrigerator open, his eyes darting about, looking for a beer.

"He doesn't love you," I told him. He found a beer and smashed the cap off, taking a quick swig, his facial muscles immediately relaxing with his swallow.

"That's not important," he replied, smirking.

"But you're his father," I said.

"Exactly what I said earlier," he said, gulping down half of his beer.

I shook my head and left, creaking up the stairs. I hurried through the coral-colored hall to Junior's bedroom, pushing through the door to find his face submerged in his pillow.

"Baby?" I hugged him, feeling worse for him than I did about myself. "It's okay," I told him. "We're gonna do this. We're gonna do this together."